


Cabin in the Woods

by TheBeeThatHums



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Child Reader, Childhood Friends, Cute, Daddy John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Faun!lock, Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, faun sherlock, just general cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 22:12:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBeeThatHums/pseuds/TheBeeThatHums
Summary: Random Faun!lock cuteness? IDK. It's just cute and fun.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did I just write... this is so cracky I don't even know. But that's why I created the 'It Had to Happen' series for things I just cant get out of my head. There might be a sequel to this or two. I have so many little kid adventures in my head and then idk... something with teens might be fun to write.
> 
> WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE.
> 
> Fawn!lock or Faun!lock was not my idea. Just hopped on the band wagon to write some shameless crack fluff.
> 
> I'll just leave all this fantastic art here for y'all. Seriously go check these peeps work out. WORTH IT.
> 
> [LOOK HOW CUTE](https://www.deviantart.com/deviation/357125928)   
>  [ADORABLE](https://www.deviantart.com/deviation/312353076)   
>  [CUTE AF](https://www.deviantart.com/deviation/355734508)

How had it come to this? John wondered, looking down at the small girl sleeping in his arms as he trudged up to the cabin’s porch. Both of your lives had just been completely turned upside down. He hadn’t thought that anything more life-changing than coming back from Afghanistan to live in a cabin with a mythological faun child could happen… and then he got the call.

His childhood best friend and his wife had been killed in a car accident and named him legal guardian to their five-year-old daughter. The social worker had tried in vain to get someone else in the family to take you, wanting to keep your life as normal as possible, but there was a reason your parents had named John to be the one to take you. No one in your extended family wanted you, and you’d been painfully bounced from one place to the next for months until John was finally called.

At first he’d been totally against it. He couldn’t raise a child on his own in the woods- he was an ex-army cripple with hardly any income after all- but as soon as he’d seen your little face and the deep sadness in your eyes, he couldn’t say no. You had been wary but couldn’t reject his comfort when he offered it and all but clung to him through all the paperwork and the trip home.

He had just barely sat down on the couch with a sigh to try and remove your steadfast little fingers from his jumper when Sherlock burst through the door, “JAWN! JAWN!”

The small fawn skittered to a stop when a new smell hit his nose, crinkling it and then giving a small head-shaking sneeze before looking accusingly toward John, who held a finger to his lips and hoped his woodland friend would understand.

No such luck.

He was on the couch in an instant, nearly jabbing John’s eye out with an antler while he poked and prodded you with both his fingers and his nose, demanding, “Wha’ is?”

“This is a human girl, Sherlock,” John tried, only to be leveled with a look from the clever faun child that told him that wasn’t what he’d been asking because that was clearly obvious.

“This is (F/n). She’ll be staying with me from now on,” he offered, hoping that was what the curious creature wanted, and Sherlock tilted his head, sniffing you and licking your neck before flattening his ears and scrunching up his face, unhappily venturing, “Stay? Why?”

John hesitated, unsure of how to explain to Sherlock what had happened, but a soft voice from his chest answered for him, “ ‘cause Mummy and Da are dead an’ no one wants me.”

You looked up at John with sleepy tear-filled eyes, “Right, Mr. Jawn?”

Sherlock’s ears shot skyward as he processed that and then swiveled back shyly as he warily watched his human friend pull you closer to his chest and kiss your little forehead, “Oh sweetheart… I want you.”

The expression on your face was skeptical and untrusting, tearing John’s heart in two, and Sherlock swapped his hesitation for a frown, butting his antlers against your arm, “ Trust. Jawn s'good friend.”

You gaze fell to the faun and your eyes widened slightly before you tilted your head and reached out a hand towards his face. Interested, he snatched it from the air and pressed his wet nose into it, deeply breathing in your unfamiliar scent. There was an odd flower-but-not flower smell, a burning smell that reminded him of the cleaning supplies John never let him touch, and underneath that a smell he labeled as yours- all overpowered by the salty scent of tears.

He licked your palm and scrunched up his nose distastefully, causing you to giggle softly, and then yanked you roughly from John’s lap and toward the kitchen. John started to scold him but stopped short when you let out a little laugh and gladly followed him to the sink so he could point at it as he ordered imperiously, “Wash.”

Both of you looked at John expectantly since neither of you could reach the high faucet without climbing and Sherlock knew John didn’t like it when he did that. John lifted you both up, one in each arm, and set the faun on the counter so he could turn on the water as he asked, “You want her to wash her hands?”

Sherlock gave him that look that said that was obvious as he flattened his ears and stuck out his tongue, explaining, “Bad taste-smell.”

You were already diligently washing your little fingers under the stream of water as John contemplated what could have possibly set the faun off before remembering that the both of you had used hand sanitizer in the city. He sighed and pushed his hands under the steam of water to join yours, knowing that Sherlock would lick his hands at some point and he’d have to do it anyways. Eager to please the interesting little boy, you shook your hands to dry them, sending water everywhere much to John’s dismay, and then offered them up to the faun, “Better?”

He narrowed his eyes and flattened his ears, cautiously leaning forward to sniff before pressing his tongue to your damp hand and then giving a satisfied nod. You laughed gaily and then ducked your head, shyly looking up at him from underneath your lashes, “What’s your name?”

He looked up indecisively at John, who tilted his head as if to say ‘go on’ and then offered, “Sherlock.”

“Sherlock,” you repeated diligently and then looked up in to John’s blue eyes with a sudden sense of uncertainty, “I can stay, Mr. Jawn?”

John was quick to scoop you up into a hug, gently reassuring you, “Of course, (F/n). This is your home now.”

His grip on you tightened as you nuzzled into his neck and quietly asked, “Can I be friends with Sherlock?”

“Why don’t you ask him that, sweetie?” John coaxed, looking over at the faun to note the curious look in his silver eyes as his ears twitched up and down in wavering uncertainty.

You pulled away from John’s neck, squirming so he’d put you down, and then shuffled your feet shyly as you looked at the floor, “Will you be my friend, Sherlock?”

In response, he extended his hand hopefully, “Come see. Experiments.”

It came out more of a question then the demand he’d intended it to be, and he skewed his lips to the side in disappointment in himself, flicking his ears back, but you joyfully grabbed his hand, exclaiming, “Show me!”

John looked after the two of you with a thoughtful smile as Sherlock practically dragged you outside, he’d had his doubts, but maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all- you and Sherlock each had someone on your level and the faun seemed as interested in you as you were in him. It certainly wasn’t a normal family but it could work.

Even if it did mean twice as many tiny muddy footprints to clean up.


	2. Chapter 2

Those first few days, John kept a careful eye on you to make sure Sherlock didn’t do anything too drastic and that you were reassured when you needed to be. He’d managed to make the guest room cozy for you for the time being but he knew he’d eventually have to do a major supply haul and change the mattress to something a little more suited to your size. Then there was the fact that Sherlock seemed determined that the two of you were going to share the room, nesting into the covers at your feet nearly every night. Right now, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing since when Sherlock didn’t stay John would find you in his bed the next morning, curled up in his embrace out of not wanting to be alone, but when you got older, it could pose a problem. That was a problem for another time, he decided, right now he needed to focus on getting you settled and figuring out what he was going to do for schooling.

After three days of watching like a hawk as Sherlock excitedly dragged you from one end of the garden to the other to show you anything and everything, he decided that the faun’s activities were innocent enough and left the two of you in the garden to do some chores around the house.

That was a mistake.

Of course, the intelligent faun noticed almost immediately that John’s eyes were no longer on the two of you and led you away from the garden and to a nearby clearing that housed the largest mud puddle you’d ever seen. He immediately flopped down in it and started rolling happily as you scrutinized him. He paused when he noticed your absence in the glorious mud, giving an annoyed bleat, and fixed you with an unamused look as he demanded, “Come in. Fun.”

You toed the mud with your bare foot hesitantly and the faun’s eyes narrowed, it was obvious you wanted to join him- why the hesitation? He dismissed it and gathered a handful of mud to chuck at you. Your resolve broke and you threw yourself into the mud on top of him, smearing mud down his cheeks with a squealed laugh in retaliation. This quickly erupted into a mud fight along with a significant amount of rolling until you paused for a breath and Sherlock’s silver eyes went wide.

They had locked on a twig in your hair, sticking out above your head much like his antlers did, and he quickly scrambled out of the mud to look for something. You tilted your head, watching his search with wide, curious eyes, and then got distracted by something pink and wiggly in the mud- a worm!

By the time Sherlock returned, you had four worms wriggling in your hand and quickly shoved them out to him as you gleefully exclaimed, “Look, Sherlock! Worms!”

He looked torn between his quest and your new discovery, his ears swiveling as he quickly sorted through his thoughts and then exclaimed, “Wait. Worms in a min-utt.”

You gave him all your attention very willingly, nearly forgetting the squirming creatures in your hand, and Sherlock jabbed the new twig he’d found in your hair opposite the one already there. You furrowed your brow, discarding the worms to reach up to touch it as your expression demanded an explanation from your new friend. He quickly grabbed your other hand and placed it over the original twig and offered you a wide grin as he excitedly rushed, “Like Sherlock… Like me.”

Your eyes went wide as he gestured to his antlers for emphasis and then you gave a twirl and let out a joyful squeal, “Like you!”  

He couldn’t help but smile back at you and you were quick to grab his hand, pulling him down to a crouch with you, “Worms!”

John had just finished folding and putting away the clean clothes when the pitter-patter of little feet and delighted giggles hit his ears and he smiled to himself- he could certainly get used to that. He was about to go see what the two of you were up to when you burst into his bedroom with Sherlock in tow, gleefully exclaiming, “Mr. Jawn! Mr. Jawn! Look! Worms!”

His eyes went wide as he took in both your appearances- you and Sherlock were completely caked in mud and various leaves and things stuck to the sticky substance- and then set his lips in a hard line.

“(F/n)! Sherlock! Look at the mess you’ve made!” he snapped, gesturing to the trail of mud in the hall and no doubt throughout the rest of the cabin and your face immediately fell as you took a few steps back, looking over your shoulder at the mud. Sherlock wasn’t as fazed and bounced forward with his hand full of worms, “Worms Jawn!”

The boy didn’t understand his friend’s lack of enthusiasm at your newest discovery and before John could stop him, he had dumped the worms on the bed, grabbing John’s arm to show him the wiggling pink pile. Glee restored by your friend’s actions, you dumped your worms on the bed to join his as John started to protest, “No. No- Don’t- Ewww. I have to sleep there.”

You giggled, grabbing his other arm to pull him down to both your level, and then shoved a worm into his fingers as you announced, “Worms eat dirt, Mr. Jawn! Isn’t that cool!”

John looked down at the worm in his hands and then lost it, his voice rising as he scolded, “No, (F/n), that is not cool. I’m going to have to rewash everything and scrub down the hall and god knows what else. You can’t just come in here with mud all over you!”

Your reaction and Sherlock’s where drastically different as your eyes immediately began to brim with tears and your lip to tremble and Sherlock tugged on John’s arm insistently, pushing more worms into his hands as he determinedly stated, “Worms, Jawn. Fun. Experiment.”

The expression on your face caused an actual pain in John’s chest as he realized his mistake, discarding the worms on the bed and trying to stop Sherlock’s bouncing with a hand between his antlers, “I don’t want the worms right now, Sherlock.”

He moved to drop to his knees to reach out to you as the faun started frustratedly babbling something in a combination of English and the language of the forest but everything was happening too quickly and before he could do anything you’d bolted out of the room.

“(F/n)!” he called out a little frantically, panic rising in his chest as he heard the front door crash against the wall. You ran to the only place away from the cabin that you knew- the clearing with the mud puddle. You were quick and had the stamina of a child so by the time John made it to the door you were nowhere in sight and he stumbled out into the grass, calling, “(F/n)! Come back, Sweetie! It’s alright!”

Sherlock had started to realize the gravity of the situation, reading the fear in John's face after he smelled it in the air, and latched worriedly to John’s leg.  John looked down when he felt the little arms wind tightly around his thigh and Sherlock looked up at him wide-eyed, “Why (F/n) go? Why Jawn afraid?”

He scooped the faun up, letting him bury his little wet nose in the crook of his neck as he rubbed his curls soothingly and asked, “Do you know where she went, Sherlock?”

The fretful faun nodded and John pleaded, “Would you show me?”

Sherlock scrambled down from his human perch to grab his hand and tug him toward the clearing. Sure enough there you were, sitting in the middle of the mud puddle with your nose tucked into your knees. John didn’t care about the mud anymore, immediately making his way to where you were and dropping to his knees, and you hesitantly looked up at him, tears revealing little tracks of skin through the mud as you sobbed miserably, “I’m sorry, Mr. Jawn. Don’t send me back. I wanna stay. I’ll be good.”

Before John could do anything, he was interrupted by little muddy fingers pressing against his cheek and looked up to find a second set of tear-filled eyes as Sherlock frowned, “Jawn make (F/n) leave?”

John opened his mouth to respond but the faun suddenly turned angry, barring his teeth and flattening his ears back, “(F/n) stay! Jawn say (F/n) stay! Sherlock want (F/n) stay!”

The little antlered child threw himself down on his tufted butt in the mud, a tearful baaing sound filling the air as he pretty much sobbed, “I want (F/n) stay.”

John just sort of gaped for a moment, looking between his two crying children, and then gathered you into his arms as he firmly announced, “(F/n) is staying.”

Sherlock calmed slightly and you tilted your head back to blink up at him through the tears, “R-Really? B-But-“

“I’m never going to send you back, (F/n). You could cover the entire house in mud for all I care and while I wouldn’t be happy I certainly would not send you back. You’re part of my family now, sweetie, that’s never going to change,” John hurried and you threw your arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder as Sherlock tearfully ventured, “(F/n) stay?”

John beckoned to the faun as he nodded, “Yes, Sherlock. She’s staying.”

Sherlock threw himself into John’s arms, antlers narrowly missing the doctor’s face, and buried his nose in his shoulder as John carefully stood, arms full of small mud covered faun and girl. He wondered if maybe some of the relatives that hadn’t wanted you used behavior like this as a reason for sending you away, it would explain why you were cautious never to do anything that might anger him even when Sherlock tried to drag you into it. His grip on you tightened- how could anyone do something like that to a child. You’d already been through enough with losing your parents.

By the time he reached the cabin, his knees were killing him and both of you were asleep, exhausted by the events of the day, and John was so very tempted to join you. He stepped through the still open door and let out a heavy sigh at the plethora of muddy handprints, footprints, and smudges covering the cabin’s interior.

Giving in, he bypassed all the mess and flopped straight down on his bed with the both you tucked against his chest- he’d deal with the mess later and the bed was already dirty… and covered in worms. He pulled a disgusted face and then decided he was too exhausted to care, rolling to his side and settling you in between him and Sherlock so he could wind an arm around you both.

Sherlock immediately latched onto you, burying his nose in your muddy hair, and you, unfortunately, stuck a muddy thumb in your mouth and tightly grasped Sherlock’s tufted tail in your other hand, finding the same comfort in it as you would a security blanket. John could only chuckle, pulling you both close to his chest, and quickly drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did this turn into a series... I DON'T EVEN KNOW ANYMORE. Can you tell I had fun with this one?

It took days for John to get the mud off everything and the cabin was almost unbearably quiet with you acting extremely guarded for someone so small and Sherlock, sensing the tension in the air, choosing to keep to his thoughts. He had just finished the last load of laundry when he decided he couldn’t take it anymore. It was just too quiet. He went in search of you, knowing that in finding you he would find Sherlock as well since he’d been stuck to you like glue recently, and found you in the living room.

A wide smile made its way to his face as his eyes fell on the scene- you and Sherlock were tucked into the corner of the bench of the bay window, basking in the afternoon sun with Sherlock splayed out over your lap with his arms up over his head. You were slowly reading aloud from a book balanced carefully between one of your little hands and the curve of Sherlock’s antlers with the fingers of the other swirling over his white lightly furred tummy.

John took a few steps into the room and you startled, dropping the book like it was on fire as you sent Sherlock tumbling out of your lap and to the floor. The faun was not happy at all with this rude interruption to his sun-warmed tummy rub and quickly skittered up from the floor to send John an accusing glare. John just chuckled, striding over to scoop up the book, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. What are you two reading?”  

“… Peter Pan,” you answered cautiously, scooting further into the corner of the window as he sat down next to you and Sherlock leapt into his lap to pull at the book in his hands. He extended an arm for you to come sit with him as he offered you a kind smile, “Mind if I join you?”

You immediately crawled closer to him, wide eyes searching his face as you questioned, “You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” he huffed softly, wrapping his arm tightly around you when you snuggled into his side before you answered, “Mrs. Aunt Ellen said I wasn’t allowed to read books.”

Sherlock fidgeted impatiently but kept quiet, understanding far more than he let on as usual, and John raised an eyebrow, “Did she say why, love?”

You nodded, “I read The Secret Garden. She didn’t like that. She said it’s unbecoming for a child to be a braggart.”

He considered that for a moment, realizing the fact that Peter Pan and The Secret Garden weren’t exactly typical reading materials for a five-year-old, and then ventured, “Do you know what a braggart is, (F/n)?”

You poked at Sherlock’s toes as you nodded again, softly defining the word for him, “Someone who shows off all the time. I looked it up in the big book with all the words in it when she wasn’t looking.”

He was about to ask when you’d learned to read but Sherlock had had enough of this seriousness and flopped himself across John’s lap to look at you in a sulky pout, “What happen Pee-ter Pan?”

You stifled a giggle with your hand, looking up at John expectantly, and he let out a soft chuckle, seems this was a conversation for another time. He tickled Sherlock’s tummy, causing him to give a delighted squeal of a laugh as he offered, “Why don’t we move to the couch and then the three of us can find out what happened to Peter Pan together?”

Before he’d even finished the faun was jumping up and down on the couch cushions enthusiastically, giving the both of you a look that clearly said hurry-the-ever-loving-up, and John used the arm wrapped around you to lift you. Your arms quickly wrapped around his neck as he moved to the couch and pulled Sherlock down on his bum next to him, so both of you were tucked under his arms on either side.

“Do you mind if I read this time, (F/n)?” he asked gently and you shook your head with a little grin, snuggling into his side as he flipped the book open, “Alright then. Where were we?”

Sherlock's little fingers pushed at the pages with an eager sense of determination as he huffed, “Pee-ter save Tiger Lill-ee.”  

John flipped a few more pages, pulling the book away from the faun to find the place he’d indicated, and then began to read. He’d nearly gotten through three chapters with Sherlock occasionally interrupting with a “Why?” when it was time for dinner and he decided it was a good stopping point. Sherlock bolted into the kitchen happily at the announcement while you pressed a kiss to John’s cheek and wrapped your arms around his neck in a hug, “Thank you, Mr. Jawn.”

His arms wound around your tiny form and gave a little squeeze, “You’re welcome, (F/n). In this house you can read books anytime you want, ok?”

You pulled away to nod with a wide grin and then tugged the book from his hands, slipping from his lap to carefully return it to its place on the shelf before there was a loud crash from the kitchen that had the both of you scrambling to see what Sherlock had gotten himself into this time.

Sherlock was sitting on the table with a pot stuck on his antlers and the rest of the contents of the pot rack strewn across the table and floor. You and John had quite a laugh while the faun struggled to try and get the pot off and then, finding that he couldn’t, crossed his arms over his chest to fix you both with a furious glare. John’s laugh died down to a chuckle as he moved over to rid the little antlered git of his metal hat, lightly teasing, “Well then. That will teach you to climb on the table, now won’t it?”

Once he was free, the faun scowled and hopped off the table with a miffed huff to disappear into the other room and you skipped after him, leaving John to prepare dinner.  He flopped on the couch in a sulk, rubbing his antlers against the arm in the way he knew John hated, and you dropped down on the floor next to his face, poking his cheek, “Sherlock?”

He rolled so he wasn’t facing you and you puffed out your cheeks with a frown, trying to come up with a way to lift your friend’s spirits, before breaking out into a wide grin. You leaned forward so your lips were by his silky ear and asked, “Do you wanna play pirates?”

His ears perked up, twitching as he thought that over, before he rolled to look at you with wide, curious eyes. You let out a gleeful giggle and grabbed his hand to pull him off the couch, “Come on, I'll show you!”

When John called for dinner, the two of you burst into the kitchen with t-shirts tied around your heads, Sherlock’s using the sleeves to craftily allow for his antlers to be free as you brandished makeshift stick swords at each other. John gave a wide grin as you jabbed at Sherlock with you stick playfully before he swept you off your feet and exclaimed, “What’s this?! Pirates in my cabin? Whatever will I do?”

You squealed happily as he scooped up Sherlock with his other arm, the little faun baring his teeth playfully while you bounced, “Be our captain, Mr. Jawn!”

His face fell as Sherlock bounced with you and repeated, “Captain Jawn. Captain Jawn.”

Memories of the last time he’d been called that flooded his mind – his time in the field, the war, those that he'd lost- and you noticed the sudden change in his expression, pressing your little hands to his cheeks as you worried, “What’s wrong, Mr. Jawn? Don’t you want to be captain?”

He recovered quickly upon seeing your little furrowed brow and concerned eyes, offering, “I’d love to be your captain, (F/n). How about I be Captain J?”

You gave him a toothy grin, “Perfect!”  

He squinted one eye and gave a very convincing, “Arrrr,” as Sherlock squealed happily before plopping the both of you down at the table and exclaiming, “Time for dinner, my little pirates, or else you'll have to walk the plank!”


End file.
